


will you love me, like you loved me in the january rain

by moss_time



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Cat Fero, F/F, Fluff, Found Family, Letters, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Reunions, Secret Samol 2020, fero pov ephrim pov and hella pov, so its mostly them and their partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moss_time/pseuds/moss_time
Summary: Snow falls, Fero goes back to the Last University, a couple of reunions take place, and a snowman is built.
Relationships: Adaire Ducarte/Hella Varal, Ephrim & Fero Feritas, Ephrim/Fero Feritas, Ephrim/Red Jack/Throndir (Friends at the Table), Fero Feritas & Hella Varal
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	will you love me, like you loved me in the january rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flavortext](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flavortext/gifts).



> secret samol for rory!!!! thank you so much for giving me a chance to write this!! 
> 
> playlist for this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1kgizeT2klIAPed130cekg?si=KFbxFwbZTh-9-Ca-pSh99w

There has been no winter in Hieron for a long time. 

Fero is not aware how long exactly, he simply senses it, like a bird knows when it's time to migrate in autumn. Like a squirrel knows when to stack up on food before the snow makes it impossible. 

He can see it, too. In the way animals behave, change their routines, bit by bit and yet all of a sudden. Some plants wither. Some, new ones, brought by the Second Spring, simply retreat underneath the earth. But mostly it is that can feel it in his bones— at the tips of his wings, his ears as they twitch in the cold. 

It makes him feel like an old man. Both because the way his body seems to react in sync with the weather and seasons reminds him of the days in Rosemerrow when he listened to older folks complain about joint pain.  _ There will be rain, I can feel it. Don't hang the laundry out tonight _ . He would scoff at it. And because as he wakes up one morning and feels cold for the first time in years, he thinks:  _ It's been so long since I saw any snow at all. _

Fero doesn't know how long has it been since the last time, since the Rosemerrow trials, since the trip to the Archives, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Perhaps he's just spent too much time napping around as a cat. Perhaps it hasn't been that long after all. 

But it makes him wonder; it makes him curious, and Fero has never been one to shy away from his curiosity. And worse than that, deep down, it makes him feel unsettled. Off balance. There are no good memories that come with the snow. 

He sits, in halfling form, in his home, crushing with his fingers dried leaves for tea. He's not sure if it's the best way to do it but the sensation of leaves breaking under his fingertips soothes him. Makes him feel a little bit less restless. He hasn't drank any tea in a while. 

In the end, Fero doesn't drink the tea that morning, as he planned. He packs it in a little bag and brings it with himself as he flies away. 

The path to the University he used to know has changed, but he can feel it all the same. 

  
  


***

That morning Hella wakes up to a door slamming against the wall as someone bursts through it. 

“Wake up! Look outside, it's snowing!”

Hella opens her eyes to find Rowe clutching at her arm. His eyes are glinting with excitement. As he sees her looking at him, he shakes her arm again. “Let's go!”

“Where?” Hella asks as she tries to blink away the sleep from her eyes. “What—”

Rowe doesn't offer much coherent explanation as he does his best to drag her out of bed, with all the might that a scrawny teenage boy has. Next to her, Adaire sleeps on undisturbed. Hella wonders if she truly managed to sleep through all of this or if she's just skillfully avoiding getting dragged out of bed early in the morning. She leans down to press a chaste kiss against her temple, before she gets from under the covers. 

At the door, Rowe stands, shuffling, not so patiently waiting for her to follow him out of the room. 

“I've never seen snow before,” he flaps his hands excitedly. Hella rummages through their wardrobe to find something warm for them both to wear. They have not been expecting this. It's been getting colder lately, gradually, but the snow is a sudden change. “I thought it was made up.”

“I've told you about it,” she points out. When he was younger, Hella spent each night telling him stories. Sometimes, there may have been some truth to them. Adaire would always give her funny looks when she recognised bits and pieces of it. 

Rowe shrugs, and pulls a knitted sweater on as she hands it to him. “You've told me about a lot. I thought it was just bedtime stories.”

He's out of the house first while Hella is still pulling her boots on. She doesn't yell for him to wait, suddenly seized by a fear that is so old it's nearly unfamiliar, but it's close thing. 

The doors behind her close shut, firmly, and Hella steps out in the snow. It's blinding. There is so  _ much _ of it. 

Before she can get her bearings, Rowe has thrown himself on the ground, limbs spread like a gangly, bundled up star. 

It brings back an old, involuntary image in her head. A star, falling, crashing against the ground covered in snow. The white surface melting away in a blink of an eye as the fire spreads. And the screams that followed. 

Rowe lifts his head to look up at her with his eyes glinting, and it's just barely enough to shake her out of her thoughts. He pats the ground beside him, insisting on her joining him in whatever this stupid, useless act is. Hella lies down next to him in the snow. 

“This is nice,” she decides, as she hears the way the snow creaks under her. It doesn't quite melt, more like molds around and underneath her. Above her, the sun shines through the tree branches. 

“It's cold,” Rowe mutters behind her. It doesn't seem like this bothers him. He mostly sounds fascinated. “I think my socks are wet.”

Logically, Hella knows she should shoo him inside before he catches a cold. But what she knows too, is that Rowe will not listen, if his excitement throughout this entire morning is anything to go by. And, well, she knows the kid. He knows very well which one of his moms is more likely to enable him. 

Hella doesn't quite want to move yet either. The cold makes her nose tingle, and she buries her face deeper in the cloak she threw on. They are, perhaps, a bit unprepared for this weather. 

She says so, after a bit more time has passed. “We should go back inside. We're not dressed for the snow.”

This prompts Rowe to get up abruptly. “Not yet.”

“Yes. Yes yet.”

He frowns at her, eyes huge and round like the moon. “I want to build a snowman.”

“You can do that,  _ after _ we get some warmer clothes.”

“Five more minutes!”

  
  


***

There has been no winter in Hieron for a long time. In over 15 years, precisely, but it's not that Ephrim's counting. Not for a specific reason at least. 

What wakes him up is the wind rattling the window of his bedroom. There's a thud after thud, with an interval of silence between, and after a considerable period of time that he spends drifting off and waking up to it, Ephrim finally gets up. 

His eyes are still adjusting to the morning light as his hands find the window to shut it. Instead of doing so, Ephrim opens his eyes and stares. 

The first thing that comes to his mind as he processes the white stretching outside is:  _ fuck _ . The second thought, as he steps away from the window and stares through it some more as if the nature slighted him personally, is:  _ Fuck, my garden _ . 

Then he's out of the house, moving quicker than he's felt the need to in a good while.

He has nothing on but his night clothes as he steps through the front door, in the snow, barefoot. It's cold. He can feel it sting his feet, and melt slowly. The cold feels wrong, as it always does for him. It's been years, but he thinks he'll never get used to the sensation of it. 

“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath. There is no one to hear him but the occasional wisps of wind. “This sucks.”

He looks at the mulberry bush that didn't get the chance to bloom yet. It looks very much like it hates this predicament even more so than he does. It's a shame. He really thought it would work out this time. 

It's been a long time of trial and error when they first started planting their own seeds, because there was no one to tell them what the rules of the Spring are. Throndir had helped him, and the two of them spent countless hours pouring over all books on farming that they could get their hands on. Many others have worked on it too, but the old library books could help only so much. There is no manual for this. And so to this day no one is quite sure which season it is, or which fruits and vegetables will take at a time. 

It is winter now, clearly. At least now they know that. 

Later that day, Throndir comes to find Ephrim wrapped in what looks like two blankets, sitting in his armchair, glaring. 

The expression on Throndir's face looks like worry but it very quickly turns into a smile, and the fondness of it alone makes Ephrim's glare melt away. It wasn't for Throndir anyway. Just for— the situation all around. 

“Hi,” he says, voice muffled by the softy fabric. 

Throndir leans towards him, finger brushing a strand of hair from his forehead before he plants a lingering kiss there. Ephrim can feel the smile still on his face. “Hello, love.”

“It's snowing and I'm angry about it,” Ephrim says before Throndir can even ask how his day has been. 

“I know,” he says. He moves to sit down next to him, and Ephrim shifts so his legs are in Throndir's lap. It's a tight fit, but they make it work. “People down in the University are, too. It's ruining the crops.”

They sit in silence, Throndir leaning his cheek against his head, for long enough that Ephrim think perhaps he's dozed off. Then Throndir asks, “Do you still want to have dinner tonight?”

Ephrim nods. “Is Red Jack coming?”

“Of course. You think he'd miss a chance to bully you into trying his new beer?”

Ephrim scoffs. He doesn't like beer. He does like Red Jack, though. And the company that he's been looking forward to this whole week would help him get his mind off everything else. 

“I should go get the stove ready,” Throndir says with a sigh. “If we're making dinner.”

He shifts, as if he's getting ready to wiggle from under Ephrim, who presses himself more firmly against him in protest. “In a minute.”

Throndir indulges him and settles back against the armchair. There is no real hurry. Red Jack won't mind if they're a little late. 

  
  


***

He goes to Hella first. Somewhere along the way, the snow starts falling.

Fero knows she has been sending him letters— he's even read a few. Not sure which order they're in, since they've all gotten mixed up on the floor of his cave. But in those letters at least, she sounded friendly enough. Not angry at him. Which was a new one. People tend to find a reason to be angry at Fero at all times. A sentiment he returns gladly and effortlessly.

Hella though, is at least easy enough to talk to even if they don't see eye to eye often. She's fun. She doesn't mind his rambling, or his temper.

And there is something warm and familiar about her, Fero thinks as he lands on a snow covered branch, and sees Hella in front of her house with a kid he vaguely remembers.

She doesn't spot him, of course. Why would she? He is just another bird amongst many of them.

It's in that moment, as he's sitting on the tree branch looking at them hurl snow at each other, that he thinks how perhaps more time has passed than he thought. Hella's hair has gained a lighter, greyish color. She wears it loose now. It's way longer than it seemed when she wore it tightly tied up, and it doesn't have that same flame red gleam. And she is out of her armor which— it's not the look he's used to seeing her in. 

It feels distinctly like he is looking at something personal and not for him. It feels like interrupting, and thankfully Fero has always been rather good at interrupting. He does what feels right in the moment and flies off towards them, transforming midair and landing just beside her. 

Hella startles, surprised by the sudden appearance, and even jumps a bit. “Shit!”

Fero laughs. The feeling of it is similar to the one of a cat curling up in front of a fire. He doesn't quite remember the last time he laughed so freely.

As the snowflakes fall gently around them, he watches as Hella's expression goes from shock– and he fully expects her to pull out her sword at him right there, to nearly palpable relief. The grin that spreads across her face makes him think, for a moment, that perhaps no time has passed at all.

  
  


***

_ This isn't so bad, _ Hella decides later that day.  _ Not bad at all. _ The thought hits her while she's finishing the soup Rix helped her make, after she successfully bribed Fero into coming inside with warm food and some wine. 

“You have definitely chosen a time to come around,” Adaire had said as a greeting when they came back inside earlier that day. Fero had shrugged and made himself comfortable on the kitchen counter. 

“I thought maybe you got bored without me,” he grinned at her. Adaire scoffed at that but there was a warmth to it that showed well enough that she is glad to see him, too. 

It's hard to get bored out here, Hella thinks, but it certainly feels as of something fell into place this bright morning. 

It's weird how quickly, and almost effortlessly, Fero carved a space for himself in their home. How he fit and no one even blinked an eye. Rix and Rowe found his jokes and stories fun even if only to tease him right back. Adaire seems at ease and it's like there's a silent understanding that has passed between them, and for once Hella doesn't really mind that she's not included. Even when the kids get bored of sitting around the table and go have their fun outside, the three of them stay and Hella listens silently as Adaire and Fero talk— about the crops that will most likely need help to get through this, if even then, about the two goats Hella brought home some years ago that Fero had thoughts on, about how the tea Fero brought with himself tastes. Hella has never been one much for tea, but the warmth is soothing. It's enough to make her forget the blankets of snow outside and the memories that resurfaced with it. 

The evening comes and passes, Rix and Rowe retreat to their room, and Hella brings out three glasses and the bottle of wine they've been saving. 

“You know,” Fero starts as she fills their cups. “Last time I had some of this, I got it directly from a god.”

“No need to brag about that now,” Adaire says. 

An hour or so later, Adaire tells them she's going to take a walk before going to bed, and with a parting kiss on Hella's temple leaves them alone with the half empty remaining bottle of wine. Fero abandons the glass and takes a swing straight from the bottle. 

It's might be because they're both rather tipsy, or because of the subdued excitement that has been thrumming through her since Fero first grinned up at her, but she finds herself asking the one thing she's been wondering all these years. She never thought she'd get a chance, or dare, to demand an answer out loud. 

“You got all my letters, right?” 

There is a beat of silence before Fero speaks again. “Yes. Maybe. There's a bunch of them.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she can dimly feel the sense of embarrassment. But it is so far away and so unimportant. “Have you actually read them?”

Fero doesn't look at her when he speaks. She isn't looking at him either, but she can tell it by the way he's doing his best to keep his tone of voice nonchalant. “Sure.”

“I know you haven't.”

“I have! I have read them,” Hella finally gives him a look, to which he quickly adds. “Some of them.”

The feeling that spreads through her chest is— she can't quite tell what it is exactly. Disappointment, relief. There are many things there that in retrospect she wishes she had not written. There are many things there that feel too raw for paper, since as months and years went by and she received no response she became gradually more comfortable with writing anything that came to her mind in those letters. At some point she tried to talk herself into stopping. Fero has never read a word of them, she told herself. Who knows if he even got a single letter. 

Knowing that he got them, possibly all of them, makes her think of a pile of mostly unread letters in Fero's home. She cringes. 

Fero must have seen her grimace because he makes a defensive gesture and points out, “I still have all of them. I just haven't— you know. Gotten around to reading them yet.”

Hella nods. She doesn't really blame him. Perhaps it's because she's momentarily too happy to see her friend again to be cross with him. She doesn't mention how long it's been, she knows how different the time flows for Fero than the rest of them. She doesn't envy him. Hella likes being busy. She likes the rhythm of a regular day and the routine it brings. 

“It sounds lonely up there,” Hella says, not really thinking about her words. Her mind feels like it's spinning slowly. 

“Not to me. I don't need people for entertainment,” he says, and takes a swing from the bottle. “You know how many animals are running around in the woods woods up there? So many. They all have things to say.”

“Why come here then?”

She regrets asking the moment the words leave her mouth. This is, inevitably, the moment Fero gets pissed off and turns his back to her. They've been through this same process so many times. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Fero does look like he's about to sneer at her. He doesn't. He shurgs instead. It's a very aggressive shrug. “I felt like it.”

Hella nods, eager to stop the direction this conversation has taken. She lifts the glass to her lips to take another sip but finds it empty. Beside her, Fero watches her intensely as he downs the last gulps of wine from the bottle. 

Hella scoffs, picking both her glass and the bottle from him and setting them aside. “I'm glad you did.”

As she lies in bed that night she wonders what she'll find in the morning. She is almost certain she'll wake up to find Fero gone, not a trace left behind aside from the unwashed dishes they left for tomorrow. But when she gets up, first, to make breakfast, she almost trips over a curled up cat, sleeping pressed in a corner of their bedroom door. It chirps when she scratches behind it's ear but doesn't wake. 

  
  


***

Red Jack and Throndir leave early in the morning. Throndir has a library to look over and Red Jack has his bar to run, so Ephrim doesn't even try to talk them into staying for a bit longer, as much as he wants to be selfish and keep them to himself. 

He vaguely recalls being woken up as Red Jack tries his best to get out of the bed without disturbing him, and fails, because of the way Ephrim fell asleep lying partially on top of him. That's okay though. It's not nearly enough to get him out of bed that early in the morning. A big but gentle hand trails through his hair and someone kisses his cheek before muttering a goodbye, and then he's out of it again. 

It's only later when he's completely awake and had some coffee that he finds the piece of paper Throndir has left for him. He goes on to talk about a gathering, something about the Day of the High Sun, which only brings sour taste to Ephrim's mouth. Even more so when he realises what is being required of him. Throndir is asking if he would show up. 

That tiny piece of paper alone takes almost all energy out of him. All of a sudden he is very glad Throndir had to leave early, and he will have time to think this over without having to talk it out. He knows, deep down, that Throndir would never force him to do anything he doesn't want to, just as he knows that him coming along with Throndir and Red Jack to whatever this festivity is would mean the world to Throndir. 

Throndir has been, for the past few months, years, trying to get Ephrim to mingle with the people of the University more. Tried, and failed, and succeeded for short bouts of time. There traces of something akin to shame left buried deep in his bones, and he hasn't let go of it, yet. Of himself. 

This mess of thoughts occupies his mind as he sits on the front stairs of his cottage, with a book he was intending to read. It lays in his lap forgotten now. It's still cold outside, but Ephrim is petty enough sit there in spite of it. Can one lose a challenge against the weather? Well. He certainly won't be the first to lose. 

“Hey!”

Ephrim looks up, vaguely annoyed that his brooding is being disturbed, and stares. 

There is a very familiar man— strangely so, considering how long he's been away— standing right in front of his fence gates, looking towards him with a wide grin on his face. It's almost,  _ almost _ , as if he hasn't aged a day. 

“You—” Ephrim stammers, feeling foolish and so utterly lost. Too many things have happened today, and it's not even noon. The last few years have lulled him in a much less eventful rhythm. “Fero.”

Fero leans against the fence. He lifts a hand to make a rude gesture for no apparent reason and keeps grinning. “Lord Ephrim.”

Ephrim sighs, trying to sound as exasperated as he can, but it's hard to do so when Fero is  _ here _ in front of him, teasing him just the same he would have five years ago. 

From anyone else, the words would leave a hollow feeling in his throat. It has been a sore spot for him, and perhaps it will stay that way for the rest of his life. The title awakes in him a feeling similar to the way his hand never quite stops aching, despite years having passed since the wound stopped spreading. 

Coming from Fero though, all Ephrim can think is how much he's missed him. This is not anything new to him, as much as he loathes to admit it to himself. Ephrim knows the empty spot Fero has left like he knows every corner of his house. He knows, too, all the letters he had written and tore up, and wished he could burn with nothing but a flick of hand. None of those were ever sent. Nothing sounds right, when it comes to the two of them. 

Except this does. Fero, with dried leaves stuck in his hair, and a smile like the sun, mockingly calling him a  _ Lord _ — that feels right. 

“You must have missed a lot up there in that cave of yours,” he says, carrying on nonchalantly and hoping his voice doesn't betrayed how much he's feeling. Fero is the last person who needs to know about Ephrim's secret fondness for him. “I haven't been a lord in a long time.”

Fero jumps across the fence effortlessly, almost catlike, despite the door being right there. He walks over to stand in front of Ephrim with his arms crossed. This turn of events shocks him. Somehow, it did not occur to him that Fero might actually come inside. He was certain Fero was simply passing by and would spare a few moments to speak to him, at best. Or Ephrim would have to bully him for those few moments. 

“You still walk like one. Shit, you still smell all lordy and what not. I don't think time can fix that.”

Ephrim can't fight the smile off his face. He should be annoyed by this, he supposes. “Thank you.”

“That's not a compliment,” Fero scrunches up his nose. 

“I know.”

Fero looks at him like he can't decipher what Ephrim means by that. It's fair, because Ephrim isn't sure he knows himself. So he steers the conversation in a more comfortable direction, for both their sakes. “Can I show you my garden?”

_ It's not much, _ he would say to anyone else. But it is much to him. He has put years into it. For some time, it was all he had. And still these days when everything seems grey and he feels like he's falling behind, it's the one thing he has. It needs him as much as he needs it. 

It's not that he needs to show it to Fero. Fero, who can probably tell by feeling alone exactly what Ephrim has planted over the years, and if they will bloom once the winter has passed or not. But he wants to. 

Fero blinks at him like he's having the same thought. For a moment Ephrim expects him to call it stupid or pointless and brush it off, but the harshness doesn't come. “Sure.”

  
  


***

_ Dear Hella,  _

_ I hope you are doing well! We haven't spoken in a while— I am sorry it took me so long to respond to your last letter. I've been busy and I assume you are as well, especially at this time of year and with these sudden weather changes. I hope you've had more luck with the crops than we did.  _

_ Has Adaire tried any of that wine we sent last time? I'd like to know what she thinks, really, she is an expert. (I thought it was just fine but Red Jack insists it's missing something and thinks I'm biased, and that Adaire would never lie about wine.) Thank you for the plums! They were wonderful.  _

_ There is a specific reason that I'm writing to you this time, actually. The people in town thought it would be a good idea to hold a festival for the Day of High Sun. It would be held in town square two days from today. It has been a bit since we last held any festivities due to the lack of supplies, and the time we needed to find our own footing. It's been long enough that no one is deterred even by the cold. This occasion should boost the morale too, I hope, what will this unwelcome snow. _

_ I hoped the four of you would come around! It's been such a long time and we would love to see you again! There is enough space in our home for the four of you, it might be a bit crowdy but we'll make it work.  _

_ Best wishes to you, Adaire and the kids (and Barbello, please do bring Barbello as well),  _

_ With love,  _

_ Throndir  _

  
  


***

There is a long, tiring conversation Adaire and Hella have that night, after they're certain that both Rix and Rowe have fallen asleep. 

As is expected, Adaire doesn't think they should accept the invitation. There is an air of anxiety around her that she wouldn't let anyone else but Hella see. And Hella understands this, feels it as well, but she can't conceal what else she feels.

“You're awfully excited about this,” Adaire notes with a frown on her lips. Disapproving, but almost understanding. “And it could very easily be a trap.”

Hella shakes her head. “Throndir would never do such thing. Not to us or to anyone else.” 

It should be frightening, how much faith she is putting in a person she hasn't seen in years, a person she hasn't heard from aside from what she read from the letters. Throndir never visited and she'd never asked. And now here Throndir is, inviting her in his home. 

Hella should not be trusting him with her life and the safety of her family so easily. The fact that she does should be a threat itself. Instead, all she feels in excitement, and a sliver of hope that she hadn't dared to consider before. 

Reading all of this on her face, as if Hella is an open book with pages worn from turning, Adaire blinks slowly up at her. She stays silent for a bit, until she finally sighs. 

“I want to sleep on it,” she decides. Hella nods. 

The next morning, while she's preparing breakfast, Hella listens to Adaire tell Rix and Rowe to pack for a few days from home, and doesn't try to hide her smile as she cracks another egg against the sink. 

  
  


***

Watching Throndir and Ephrim together is... Weird. New. But familiar still. Years ago, Fero remembers Adaire muttering something about how annoying they are, dancing around each other like that. He had asked her what she meant then, and she just gave him a look and never elaborated. He thinks he gets it now. 

At the moment they are preparing lunch together, a late one, which Fero offered to help with but ended up stepping aside because Ephrim's kitchen is way too small to handle three people rummaging through it. So he finds himself sitting aside, on the small, round dining table placed next to a window, watching the two of them cook. There is a routine to it that reminds him of turning into an animal he knows very well. He wonders how many times they did this, and how many times have they made a mess because they bumped into each other and kept apologising, how many times a meal got ruined because of it, how long it took for them to get here. 

Weird. Fero prefers cooking alone. That way there's no one to mess things up for him. 

He has to admit though, the two of them can make a pretty good lunch. He hasn't had baked potatoes this good in what feels like an eternity. When Throndir looks at him, smiling, and asks how he likes it, he can't bring himself to be petty enough to deny it. 

“It's great. Definitely the best I've had in years,” he admits, and watches Throndir beam at him. He can feel Ephrim's eyes on him, but pretends not to. 

(They are touching constantly, hands and fingers lingering, and at some point Throndir even kisses Ephrim's cheek like it's the most normal thing in the world. Fero feels very much like he's intruding, but no one seems to mind his presence, so he stays.) 

He helps to clean the table afterwards, mostly just to busy his hands with something. 

“How long are you staying?” Ephrim asks from the sofa, just as Fero sets down the last plate in the sink.

People keep asking him about his future actions as if he has a plan. He doesn't. When he woke up that morning he didn't plan on coming back here, and yet he's here, has been for the past three days. 

“I don't know,” he says, honestly. “I told Hella I'll go back there before I leave though. She threatened to fight me if I don't.”

Throndir laughs at that. He shoos him away from the kitchen saying that he'll wash the dishes, so Fero joins Ephrim on the sofa. It's weird. All of this is weird. It's weird but not in a way that bothers him, which just makes it even more—

“You're welcome here, too,” Ephrim speaks suddenly, voice quiet, for Fero only. “If you want. There's enough space.”

There really isn't, Fero wants to say. Ephrim's home is small and crowded, and the three of them makes a crowd already. But it is also warm and comfortable, and smells of honey. 

In the end there is nothing he can think of to say to that, so he doesn't. 

That night marks the end of the third day Fero has spent away from home. It's been a long time since he's been anywhere else, and while the usual restlessness isn't settling in yet, it is a very sudden change. When the sting of homesickness appears, he curls up at Ephrim's back as a cat. His bed is warm, and he almost forgets about the snow outside. 

In the morning, when Ephrim hands him a cup of tea, he offers a late response to the question he raised yesterday. “Until the snow stops falling.” 

Ephrim cocks an eyebrow. He still looks half asleep. “What?”

“I'm staying until the snow stops. Flying in this weather is a pain in the ass.”

“Oh,” Ephrim says. He looks towards the window, to the outside, where the snow is slowly falling. Fero clutches at his steaming mug, hard enough to hurt. “Okay.”

  
  


***

The day after the festival, Hella sleeps in. She is the early riser in the house, with Adaire loving to get in as much sleep when she can. Hella enjoys gently shaking her awake and listening to her grumble as she gets up, squinting at all lights, and lets Hella lead her to their kitchen for breakfast and coffee. It's not really that Adaire needs the help, she just enjoys it, as Hella found throughout the years of their relationship. Just like she doesn't need Hella to make her coffee, but insists that she prefers it so. 

This morning though, Hella wakes up alone in a bed. They're staying at Red Jack's still, and even Fero and Ephrim have joined them last night. It was a long, loud night. 

Through the window she can see the outside clearly. The snow has not stopped yet. Rowe has seemingly managed to drag Rix with him to build and snowman out in the street. The decorations for the festival are still up, dangling from the front doors and tree branches, swaying in the morning breeze. 

From the downstairs, she can hear the muffled sounds of talking; Adaire's slow, almost sleepy tone, followed by Red Jack's booming laughter ringing throughout the room. 

She can hear it when someone walks upstairs, and recognises Throndir's hushed voice as he, as much as she can tell, attempts to wake up Ephrim. There is a mention of breakfast, a mumble, Throndir's small laugh, and then the sound of him walking down the squeaky stairs. 

As he opens the door to the kitchen the voices become louder and clearer. Fero is laughing at a joke she couldn't hear, and one of the dogs is barking. She thinks she can hear Adaire say her name. 

Hella gives herself another five minutes to enjoy the comfort of the warm blanket before she faces the cold, and gets up to join them for breakfast. After all, there has not been a winter in Hieron for a long time, and who knows when the next one will come. Better to capture as much time as they can before the snow melts away.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> title from mary by big thief
> 
> ty for reading!! im @moss_time on twitter


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